


christmas cookies

by thisainthannah



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Baking, Christmas, Depression, Dream Smp, Fighting, High School AU, Hospitals, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Love, M/M, Oneshot, Sapkarl, Self-Harm, Violence, christmas episode bitches, fuck sap's dad 2021, karlnap, parents suck, physical fighting, sick, they're gay lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:40:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29417289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisainthannah/pseuds/thisainthannah
Summary: (this is in the universe of my fic "i think you're really cool" on wattpad btw)it was going so well. they thought he was gone. they thought nick was fine.but it was just getting worse.christmas eve was supposed to be hopeful and shit.
Relationships: Karl Jacobs & Sapnap
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	christmas cookies

**Author's Note:**

> HEY trigger warning for self-harm, abuse, depictions of violence, vomiting, and homophobia. :( stay safe babes ily

Nick - December 24th - 5:32 p.m.

also yes this is the same as the i think ur really cool universe but 1) its a year into the future and 2) it doesnt actually happen (not in the main story on my profile anyways) 

"I'm so excited for tomorrow!" cheers Karl from the kitchen. We're baking Christmas cookies right now.

Or, he is. I'm a shit baker. I told him I'd come in at the icing part, and he's okay with that. When it comes to artistic crafts such as baking, he's a control freak.

Karl's humming along to Christmas music and stirring brown sugar into a bowl when my phone makes it's good-old text tone. A message from my least favorite person.

A message from my fucking dad. An especially scary one to receive when you're home alone with your boyfriend and your homophobic shithead dad knows where you live.

And judging by his message, he plans to use this knowledge to his advantage.

"I bet you and that stupid ... Karl are in my house right now. I'm coming."

What do you mean, "you're coming?" The fuck? I thought we had a restraining order against your dumbass.

I can feel tears burning the back of my eyes as I stare down at the message. The way he says he's coming to my house and then calls my beloved boyfriend a slur is just so fucking awful. I hate him.

Karl's still singing along to the music with his chipper tone, but I know we're in danger. I know I need to get us out of here immediately.

"Kar."

"Yes, Nick?"

"We need to go. Immediately."

"What? What happened?"

"I'll tell you when we're not here. Just come on."

"But the Christmas cookies are gonna burn!"

"Karl, baby, the cookies are the least of my concerns right now."

He frowns, takes the pan out of the oven, and then we head out.

"So now that we're out, what happened?"

I don't respond verbally. I just hand him my phone, opened to the messages with my dad.

"Oh... oh my," Karl whispers. "We should go to my house, Nick."

"Where should we go?" calls a voice from the street. Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Shit. Oh fuck.

"Karl. How fast can you run?"

"Decently-"

"Good. Let's get to yours."

Karl's eyes widen, and we full-on sprint down the street. God, this would have been a GREAT day for us to have driven to my house instead of walked.

Or for my car to not be in the shop.

What're the odds?

"Why the heck is he here?" Karl pants, stopping for breath.

"I don't know. He's fucked in the brain, I swear baby," I respond. We pick up our running, but I turn around. Stupid choice.

He's still behind us.

Fuuuuck.

"Karl, run!" I say, and he pants. Pitiful little baby. I want to hug him and tell him everything's alright.

If dad hates me so much, then why does he fucking do this shit? Why does he terrorize me like this? Why does he try to hurt me?

Why does he want to hurt Karl, a teenage boy that did nothing to him?

"We're here," Karl says, pulling me into his house, tears streaming down his face. My dad is a handful of yards away.

God, this is so bad for Karl's anxiety.

"Kar, do you need anything?" I ask him. After a year of dating, I kinda made the habit to check up on him like this.

"Can I be alone?" he asks me, and I nod. Corry's in the kitchen, completely stunned at this whole situation. I'm stunned by the sound of beating on the front door of the house.

"What the-" Corry shrieks.

"FUCK!" I accidentally scream, pulling her into my arms and upstairs. "Call your parents. I don't know what room your brother went into but I need him to be safe."

She nods and calls her mom and dad both, explaining to them. Mr. Jacobs immediately calls emergency services, and Mrs. Sarah does the same.

Dad's still beating on the door.

"Karl?" I call out. He doesn't respond.

"Karl!" Corry screams. "Where are you?"

I hear a muffled scream.

Oh my god.

"Corry. Stay up here, alright? I'll be back."

She fearfully nods as I slowly trudge down the stairs, and am met with a slightly ajar front door, an ironic rainbow reflected through the glass pane on the door.

And louder screams from my boyfriend.

"Nick!" he screams, and then a sob.

I bolt through the door to find my fucking father pinning him up to the doorway's walls. With his hand around his neck.

"What the fuck is wrong with you? You fucking psychopath. You absolute maniac. What the hell, dad. Really," I spit out, and the shock of me speaking like this forces him to remove his hands from Karl.

Karl, who immediately takes this distraction and bashes his fist into dad's nose.

"I hate you!" he screams as he fucks up this grown-ass man's face. Blood's coating his knuckles, but the nosebleed doesn't stop my dad from delivering a hard blow to my stomach, causing me to double over in pain.

And throw up that stupid Christmas cookie batter.

And as I fall the fuck over from a dead-legging, my vision is clouded with stars. And my head hits the concrete stair below me.

Luckily, I manage to stay conscious, even after a boot finds its way in my stomach.

As if on cue, the fucking cops arrive to this mess of a grown man assaulting two teenage boys on their own front doorstep. They probably pity a motherfucker as sad as him.

The officers physically restrain Dad, and end up throwing him into the back of their car, clad in handcuffs. Not the kinky kind. This isn't the time for a sex joke. I think I have a fucking concussion.

Karl and I both are escorted into an ambulance, me lying down with Karl sitting up next to me. He's not terribly injured, thank God.

God, who failed us, right before his son's birthday. Jesus, we were literally celebrating your birthday and you let my dad come and fuck it up? That's like spoiling your own surprise party!

"Nick. Oh my god. Are you okay?" Karl says, more tears (mixed with blood) streaming down his face. Damn, I never thought that I'd see him like this- bruised and bloody and puffy-faced and red-knuckled and all that jazz.

"I mean, kinda?" I laugh. Karl doesn't.

"Nick. Take this seriously. You could have fuck- freaking died!" he shouts, fidgeting with the end of his bloody Christmas sweater.

"I am! I just don't want to focus on the fact that I was almost fucking murdered on your doorstep twenty minutes ago!" I shout back, and he just sighs.

"Nick."

"Karl."

"Have you been getting better?"

The dreaded question.

No, Karl. I did it again and then I couldn't stop and now it's slowly getting out of control and I don't know what to fucking do anymore and part of me wishes he'd just killed me but then I wouldn't be with you anymore but now you're gonna be mad at me for wishing and doing and so now I lose no matter what.

"N-no," I whisper. He knows about the relapse.

He doesn't know that it's gotten way worse.

"Nick, I love you. I just want to help you get better."

"Does it look like you're helping?" I yell, pulling up at my sleeves. He gasps in shock and his tears pick back up.

I did NOT mean that.

"Nick, I-"

He pauses and takes a breath.

"I'm sorry. I'm trying my hardest but it's just... you said that you w-wouldn't, and-"

"I said that I wouldn't, like, over a year ago. Shit changes and gets harder. Things have gotten way harder, Karl."

"You won't let anyone in! You seriously need help, Nicholas! Seriously! You need to get better. Or you're gonna get seriously hurt. Or you could die."

"Dying sounds perfect right now."

"Don't talk like that."

I bite the inside of my cheek to avoid saying something I shouldn't.

God, I'm awful. I'm a damaged mess. I'm way too much for you, Karl. You deserve something so much better than this. A mess. A broken mess who can't stop abusing himself. I know you're trying to help, and so is everyone else. And your attempts at helping have been the most effective by far- not even therapy was as helpful as you screaming at me and throwing all of the sharp objects in my room into a box and chucking it into the garbage disposal. The way you held me by the hands and told me that you were determined that I could do it, that I could beat this.

But I can't beat it, Karl. I can't get out of it. I'm trapped. I'm my own personal labyrinth of suffering, to reference your favorite book. Looking for Alaska. You made me read it and I loved it just as much as you do.

I know you want the old me back. The old Nick that wasn't like this- the Nick you loved at first sight and loved more and more each day until you found out how fucked up he was, and then loved him more than ever. And then devoted yourself to helping him, only for him to be still a teenage fuckup. A train wreck of terrible health and a ruined future, only seventeen. I threw away everything I had because of my condition- my football and track seasons. My status as the "lady-killer," coincidentally enough.

And I'll bet that soon, I'll be losing you and Clay and George and Bad and Zak too. You'll all five slip right through my fingers and leave me here to wilt. Like a houseplant that you all gave up on giving a fuck about.

We arrive at the ER. I can slightly walk, and Karl bitterly helps me do so.

"Karl. I'm sorry for snapping at you like that."

"I don't care. I understand. I love you. Even if I can't help you, I hope that just being here and loving you is enough, Nick. I do."

"Karl, you help me more than anyone."

"Obviously not." He points to my arm.

"Mentally. We'll get there physically eventually, alright? Before graduation, I promise."

"Promise?"

"I promise, Karl."


End file.
